The Prison of my Mind
by Daae and Devil
Summary: An account of the time spent in Erik's torture chamber from Joseph Buquet's point of view. Another oneshot by Daae and Devil.


_**Author's Note;**_

_**This one shot is rather short as you can see. I felt Joe deserved something. Please review, all that good crap. By the way, I apologize to anyone who previously read this story. I was in a rush to get it posted, and I forgot about something very important. Finishing it.**_

_**Disclaimer; I do own Phantom of the Opera. I really do. But don't tell anyone I said that 'cause then the people in the white suits will bring me back to that scary room. It's rather soft in there, though.**_

Where in hell was I?

I knew it must be somewhere in hell. This couldn't possibly be Earth. The room looked so large, yet when I walked to the edges, I realized how small it was.

All sense had left me. I was hollering, even though it was obvious that no one could hear me.

No one ever would again.

The hexagonal hell blocked out a good part of my mind, leaving only the instinct to panic when threatened. To run and hide in the face of peril, as all humans do.

My life had never been great. I had never been a very respectable man.

But I was a man!

I lived, breathed, ate, slept, did everything that a normal human being must do.

And now, I was dying.

Does the world have no pity for a stage hand?

I have been accused of many things. My life has been worse than many people can remember.

Memories flash through my mind, like silhouettes dancing on the walls of my skull.

When I was eight, I was thrown out on the streets.

Ten, brought to an orphanage and raised by a family who would work me to extremes only to pay off a meager piece of bread,

Nineteen, I came to live at the Opera House.

And I've been here ever since.

I had seen the Opera Ghost. Oh, I had gotten a good look at him. That face! The face that only the son of Lucifer could possibly have. If God sent an angel down to tell Mary of Jesus' birth, the Devil must have done the same with the Opera Ghost. His eyes were flames, piercing even the darkest night and striking fear into even the most courageous soul. He had no nose, but it seemed that he had and animal ability to scent out his next victim even without one. He looked straight at me with those eyes of death, the eyes that told me he had murdered and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Was torture his habit? Possibly. Had he been brought up in a horrible place? Only the Devil knows, and maybe that strange Persian man I often saw stalking around in the rafters like some old crippled cat trying to sustain his ability to capture mice. But whatever it was, only a demon could have the twisted mind to construct this hell that I was trapped in at that moment.

The place I suppose I was always destined to die.

I always hoped that, with my shameful birth as a child with an unknown father, I would at least have a death worth appreciating. Evidently, I wouldn't.

No more story telling. No more watching the dancers twirl from my perch in the rafters. It would all be gone.

Everyone knows that suicide is the worst possible sin, I reflected as my gaze fell steadily on the noose that was hanging from a tree over in a corner. The mirrors made it look like there were thousands of those lassos, all the gaping mouths of a starving animal waiting to engulf me and end it all. Could God ever forgive me, or would I go to hell for accepting those open jaws?

The heat began to grow unbearable, and I grew steadily more sure that I would be forgiven for this mortal sin. I raised my open palms to the heavens and prayed desperately for him to accept the crime I was about to commit.

And I let go.

Pain exploded in my mind as I tumbled off of that tree, the lasso secured around my throat tightening and slowly draining my limbs of their power. How desperately I wanted to reverse my action!  
But there was no going back.

I hung from Death's jaws. The jaws that had been created by the Opera Ghost.

And then it stopped.

My life was forever over, and all that came of it was hundreds of rumors. No one really cared that I was dead.

Now, I am just another spirit, flowing in the wind with all the others who have perished.

I can never be happy again. Killing myself was a mortal sin, and now I am trapped on Earth forever.

After all, there really is no hell. There is only the fear of living there.

_**Authors Note; Yes, as I said, please review. It's a rule. You read you review.**_


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